Kiss on a Bruise
by ry0kiku
Summary: If Spain were to describe the days he spent with England, it'll be like a gentle kiss on a bruise. UKSpain. Because seme!England deserves his own warning. Oneshot. Slash.


Warning: un-beta-ed. Anyone interested?

Hope you'll enjoy :)

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><p>Echoes of his boots scraping the stone floor apparently wasn't the only sound accompanying his short journey. England wrinkled his nose in distaste as chorus of snore, coming from the guards slumping against the corridor walls, greeted him almost immediately after opening the wooden door leading to the dungeon. He made his way in, doing his best to avoid stepping on empty ale bottles and—bloody hell, was that a puddle of vomit?—be extra careful not to step on the sprawled limbs of his sleeping-too-soundly-for-their-own-good subordinates.<p>

He couldn't really blame them tough. They had the right to celebrate. After all they went through, not even the pathetic sight of his countrymen slumping and snoring could burst the feeling of happiness and pride bubbling inside of him right now.

The British Navy had once again prevailed.

It had been expected to be a one-sided battle—he had heard rumors going on about that in the mainland—as the other side was superior in both numbers and weaponry. But he won. Despite the rumors saying he wouldn't win against the obviously more well-armed Franco-Spanish armies, he still won. Without losing a single ship, while completely devastated them. Boosting up his national pride, securing his place as the ruler of the seas. And of course, there were other rewards.

The British man made no effort to conceal his smirk when he stopped in front of a metal door at the far end of the corridor, nodding as the two guards—thankfully, they're among the few ones who were still sober enough to recognize him—gave him a salute. One of them hastily pulled out a bronze key and was halfway inserting it into the hole when England suddenly grabbed his arm, rendering the guard tensed and stared at him nervously.

"Let me." He held out his other hand, and the guard hesitantly dropped the key into his palm before stepping aside, bowing his head.

It didn't take him long to open the metal door and tossed the key back to the guard, mouthing, "You two better stay sober while I attend to the business," before slamming the metal door shut without even bothering to hear their reply. They were nowhere as important as the 'prize' they were guarding, after all.

There was no sign of movement even when he walked casually across the dimly illuminated room, closing the distance between him and its occupant who leaned against the stone wall in a sitting position, both hands chained above his head. The head that was currently bowed low, unruly mop of chocolate locks hiding his expression from view.

The British Empire now stood there in all his glory before the Spanish Empire, whose status right now was nothing more than _his_ prisoner.

"Enjoying your stay?"

He mocked, looking down at the Spaniard on the floor, tied up and beaten, completely at his mercy.

"I apologize for the uncouth, ah, _reception_ you had to receive, but you brought it upon yourself, dear Spain. If I were you, I wouldn't choose to side with than bloody frog. Seeking a conquest throughout Europe, hah! Do you even realize what you're doing?"

He closed whatever little distance between him and the Spaniard, dropping to one knee so that he was now—more or less—eye-to-eye with his prisoner.

"Look what it brought you; more wars, more defeat, more shame. And the frog? He ran away. Probably plotting how to conquer _you_, and maybe your brother, next time. Silly Spain. If you think this is the way to try to raise the sun back from the dead, then you are completely delusional."

That's right. The kingdom where the sun never sets. The title that was once Spain's. The title England now claimed as his personal award.

England grabbed Spain's chin with his gloved thumb and index finger, tilting his head up, wanting to look directly at his eyes as he rubbed the fact to his face. His smug smirk fell as he instead met a pair of emerald eyes currently hidden behind closed eyelids, their owner took slow and peaceful breath from slightly parted lips.

...so. He had been as good as mocking empty air, huh?

Furrowing his eyebrows in clear irritation, England contemplated between calling the guards to fetch a bucket of water—preferably sea water—as a substitute alarm clock, or simply slapping this idiot back from his slumber. He was about to execute the first option when the corner of his eyes caught one jade eye flickered open for a brief second before snapping shut again. Very slight and faint movement, but a movement nonetheless. His triumphant smirk returned.

This guy sure had the nerve to be faking sleep in times like this. That just tempted him to join the game. He turned back to the Spaniard, canceling the plan to call the guards.

"Hmm. I wonder what should I do to wake him up?"

Musing aloud and pretending he never noticed the movement, England began tracing Spain's lower jaw with his thumb, moving as teasingly slow as he could, sharp green focused on the Spaniard's face, determined not to let even the slightest hint slipped past his eyes.

His gloved thumb ghosted over the slightly parted lips, and he noticed Spain's left eye twitched and the brown brows formed a frown ever so slightly. Oh, how he enjoyed teasing Spain like this. His finger lingered there for a moment, moving torturously slow as if wanting to memorize each curves of Spain's lips, slowly shifting to the side, and only stopped when he heard the gasp.

Out of curiosity, he poked the same spot and this time earned a suppressed groan. Upon closer inspection, he realized he had been poking a bruise on the right side of Spain's lip. Quite a nasty one, he must admit. Most likely from a good punch, or something harder.

A smirk once again tugged his lips. He might just find a brand new method to jerk his prisoner awake. A way that would ensure the Spaniard would never think of trying to fake sleep anymore while in his custody.

With that in mind, England leaned forward, closing in whatever little distance between him and the Spaniard. He could feel small shudder from the body beneath him, but dismissed it as he parted his lips and let his tongue brush against the bruise.

And yes, it turned out to be quite an effective wake-up call.

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><p>Spain groaned inwardly as he heard the sound of the metal door being opened. Those English guards really need to find other hobbies aside from beating him for their entertainment. He was lucky none of them were bored enough to try anything like driving things up his ass—or the things pirates did to him in the past.<p>

The footsteps were getting closer, echoing in the silent room. Spain kept his head bowed low, disheveled brown hair shadowing his eyes, hoping they would leave him alone if they were convinced he was sleeping. After all, it would be no fun torturing people who were not even conscious, right?

"Enjoying your stay?"

His heart skipped a beat. That voice... there was no mistake...

"I apologize for the uncouth, ah, _reception_ you had to receive, but you brought it upon yourself, dear Spain."

Spain took his previous thought back. It was much, much better to have those rough guards visiting him, than this...this _gentleman_. He remembered how he was practically stuffed with those burnt charcoals England insisted to call 'scones' during the time when he was taken captive by the self-proclaimed gentleman's band of pirates. That, and being completely deprived from tomatoes. He wasn't even sure if he had completely recovered from the trauma yet.

"Look what it brought you; more wars, more defeat, more shame. And the frog? He ran away. Probably plotting how to conquer _you_, and maybe your brother, next time ..."

He gave no response, despite feeling his blood boil at the sharp remark. How dare that stuck up tea-sucker spoke like that about his good _amigo_! Just because this once he happened to have more allies than his long-time rival didn't mean he had the right to mock France like that.

But no. No matter how furious he might get, he wouldn't response. The last thing he would do is to show his weakness to this British rival of his, if he could help it.

"...should know better than trying to raise the sun back from the dead."

The voice had become so close. Dangerously close. Spain mentally told himself to keep his eyes shut and breathing controlled even as he felt a gloved hand grab his chin, tilting his head up. He tried to remain as relaxed as possible, for as long as possible, hoping England would give in to his acting and leave him alone. Curiosity, however, got a better hold of him.

Spain cracked one eye open, catching a glimpse of the blond in military clothing in front of him, before snapping it shut in a split of second. He was lucky England was currently looking at the other side so he wouldn't have noticed him faking sleep... or would he?

"Hmm. I wonder what should I do to wake him up..."

Spain almost rejoiced in the thought that his acting worked, only to have that thought snatched away as he felt England's gloved hand caressing his lower jaw in a manner he could only describe as _teasing_. It took all his might not to pull away from the touch; even though it centered on his lips only, for some reason it felt invading.

The finger touched the side of his lip, and he inhaled sharply by instinct. Even without seeing it, he knew it was a nasty bruise. Apparently a gift from the guard he kicked on the groin when the guard was tying him up. The choice of location might not be as painful, but still it _hurt_. And it didn't help that England—intentionally, he bet—decided to poke it again, this time adding a bit more pressure.

...wait, did he just groan? Great. What a way to blow things up...

His trail of thoughts were interrupted when the finger left, replaced by a warm breath and something fleshy and moist rubbing against the abused skin, feeling weird but soothing. It felt just like...

Jade eyes shot open in horror, instantly met with identical green eyes of the blonde whose face was only a mere inches from him, smirking with his tongue darting out, licking the abused skin like a cat would do to clean up its offspring.

England was licking him.

"Inglaterra! What-"

The protest went unfinished as England's lips slammed against his without warning.

Spain's eyes grew wide and he instinctively tried to scoot away in vain—his back already pressed against the wall—but England's hands crept up to caress his face, practically locking his head in place as the blond deepened the contact. The brunet could not do anything but closed his eyes, pretending this was not happening even as he felt his blood rush to his face as England's tongue started rubbing against his sealed lips, requesting entrance.

Despite his utter confusion, Spain had to admit that it felt nice. He had thought England would reek of sea scent, having surrounded with and spent so much time exploring it. But instead, the island nation smelled fresh like the rain blessing the country. The smell that ticked his senses and curiosity, and before he knew it, he had unconsciously craved for more.

A simple movement was all it needed. As soon as Spain parted his lips, England's tongue swiftly slid into his mouth, exploring his cavern rather sloppily. But this time, Spain wasn't going down without a fight. If he couldn't use his hands, he's determined to at least dominate in this.

When his tongue triumphantly made its way into England, he was surprised to savor the surprising taste of meadow, of fresh air he never expected to come from this 'gloomy' country. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he rather liked the surprising taste. Apparently, England liked his taste as well since the slender fingers started burying themselves in his locks of brown hair, drawing their faces closer as their kiss deepened.

He had no idea since when he had started pulling against his restraints, wishing his hands were unfettered. Only, whether to shove England away and beat him up, or to pull him close and demand for more, he wasn't sure anymore.

They finally parted after what seemed like forever, a trail of saliva still connecting their tongues, faces tinted slight pink and breathing ragged. England stared at him, green eyes half-lidded with desire, making Spain briefly considering to lash forward and claim his mouth all over again.

Instead, the Spaniard leaned back against the stone wall, returning the delicious look with the best he could muster—he swore he could hear England gulped—and before he knew it, the words had left his mouth.

"So. How did I taste?"

It was an almost idiotic question, really.

"You tasted like bloody tomatoes." The Englishman grunted, turning away his blushing face.

It was to be expected. He returned it with his characteristic playful smile.

"Thanks for the compliment."

"That was no compliment, you git," England barked as he got to his feet, but not before placing a quick peck on Spain's lips, purposely brushing against the bruise, while adding a quick whisper before heading for the door.

"Fake sleep again and I'll do much more than just a wake-up call like this."

Spain chuckled as the metal door slammed shut and locked from the outside. Contrary to England's warning, he had started thinking about faking sleep as often as he could while he was at it.

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><p>It was the 21th century.<p>

The bruise had long gone. And so did the wooden ships, the old-fashioned prison, the sharp smell of gunpowder and sea air—the scent he had most of time associated with the British pirate-gentleman.

Their 'hatred' for each other had also drowned within time, and now one could at least talk casually without trying to behead the other. They could finally be considered as having a normal, somewhat friendly relationship.

Though, bad memories were not the only ones the flow time decided to take.

The fresh scent against his tongue was now nothing more than a distant memory and, however reluctant he was to admit, a pleasant one at that. The feeling of England's lips against his skin, the mixture of pain and pleasure... he could now even barely recall it, aside from knowing that it_ happened_.

And so did their relationship; their all but harmonious relationship. Too many differences, too many rough edges impossible to completely erase. He remembered there were rough moments when they met in battlefield, at the end of each other's sword. But he also remembered there were gentle moments where they would stare at each other, sharing painful and pleasant memories without having to utter a single word, and sealed them with a kiss.

They were on their own ways now. England would spent his days watching rain, drinking tea, engaging in constant bickering in either America or France—and sometimes, both—while Spain would spent his time tending to his tomato fields, hanging out with Prussia and France—and most of the time, both—or wooing his dearest South Italy.

But, there were also rare moments when their eyes caught each other, even in a split of second.

Spain had just wiped his eyes from tears of mirth after laughing at Romano's reddened face, only to stare straight at England's eyes, seemingly in the middle of scolding a laughing America. They both froze as those almost identical jade met each other, before both turning away and continued with their respective partners.

Spain himself wondered why his fingers suddenly ghosted over his lips, fingering the non-existent bruise.

And somehow, he could feel that the kiss was still there.

-fin-

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><p>AN: The setting is the aftermath of the Battle of Trafalgar on 1805, one of the most important sea battles during the Napoleonic Wars. I was reading this book about British Navy practically flattened Franco-Spanish forces and couldn't help but think "England was so seme-ish back then…" and that is the history behind this little ficcie.

Also, I won't hide behind "English is not my mother tongue so spare me plz" and so, feel free to give me critics or feedbacks about anything, from flow to grammar or even choice of words, or just any comments in general, I won't mind :)

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed your time :)

Regards,

Ryokiku


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